Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
And keeps the palace of the soul.
The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.
And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.